


Spare Me Words

by vicious_dandelions



Series: The Children of Kaer Morhen [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But only a little, Child of Surprise (The Witcher), Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry for subjecting you to my brain child but it wouldn't let me sleep, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, but there's fluff too, okay maybe a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicious_dandelions/pseuds/vicious_dandelions
Summary: "He was fairly certain that this was absolutely not how children of surprise were supposed to work, given that the child wasn’t even theirs to give, but - his brothers would tell him he’s going soft in his old age for it - that woman had made the boy’s arm bleed without a thought for it. He couldn’t just leave him there."Or the one where Geralt claims the law of surprise and must learn to be a parent as he unravels the mystery that is the strange creature destiny has dumped on him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Children of Kaer Morhen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139354
Comments: 40
Kudos: 135





	1. Throw Me to the Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title taken from Bittered Bones by A Brilliant Lie  
> Chapter title from Saints by The Echos  
> First and foremost, I'm so sorry for subjecting you all to the terror that is this brain child. I haven't written fic in years and yet here we are. I haven't read the books or played the games so absolutely all knowledge I have is either from the show or picked up from reading every fic I can get my hands on in this fandom.  
> Do mind the tags, there are casual mentions of past child abuse scattered throughout but not graphically described

Julian didn’t think he’d ever been so scared in his life, struggling and thrashing like the cats he so desperately tried to pet sometimes - he thought he understood then and wasn’t ever going to do that to them again - as he was forcibly dragged from his hiding place in the barn towards a very imposing man in black armor. The woman, who’d been oh so kind the day before when she found a strange, starving child sleeping in her barn, had a grip of iron and cuffed him over the head in an attempt to stop his thrashing. It had hurt, and so he stopped trying to wriggle away only to start wailing.

“I don’t want to go!” He cried, “Please don’t make me go, I’ll be good I promise!” The woman had no mercy, no kindness left and kept hauling him forward until they stood mere feet from the Witcher. And a Witcher he was - Julian would recognize one anywhere after having been threatened with them often enough. Worn armor, scars anywhere skin was showing, and two swords at his back. 

“He wasn’t this much trouble when I found him, Witcher,” the woman grunted as Julian started tugging again. It was useless, even bleeding from the way her nails dug into his skin, he’d yet to free his arm from her grip. “Quietest mouse I’d ever seen, helped me with the chores too.”

“Release him,” The Witcher growled, and it was the only reply he deigned give the woman, barely sparing a glance to see if she did as he bid. The command had surprised and stilled Julian, who stared in a mix of curiosity and horror as the Witcher knelt down. He was still scary, but, well, at least a little less imposing now that Julian could look into his very cat-like eyes and see the tangles in his white hair. “I’m Geralt.”

Julian sniffed, cradling his bleeding, but finally freed, arm to his chest. He was of half a mind to flee but the heavy weight of gold eyes kept his feet still even as his heart pounded like he had started running. “J-Julian,” he finally managed to get out, tacking on a hasty “sir” at the end hopefully before he noticed. It seemed to satisfy him, for he gave a curt nod and rose up to his full height again, holding a hand out for Julian to take.

Before he knew it, Julian was hoisted up into the saddle of the witcher’s horse with Geralt settled behind him.

They didn’t go far, veering off the path and into the surrounding woods only a couple of hours after they’d left behind the woman whose name Julian never learned and the barn he’d taken refuge in. He’d kept quiet the whole ride, but his mind was whirling fast enough to leave him dizzy. Why had he been given to a witcher? What use did a witcher have for a runaway, mostly disowned noble boy? Had his father finally made good on his threats and hired a witcher to do away with him? But if that was the case, he’d probably already be dead. Unless the witcher didn’t want to upset the woman. But weren’t witcher’s not supposed to have feelings like that?

Julian had nearly worked himself into a panic by the time that the witcher - Geralt, he reminded himself, it wouldn’t do to make him angry by forgetting his name - made the decision to stop and dismounted, pulling Julian down right after. He stumbled but regained his footing before Geralt could reach for him and was promptly left to his own devices while the man went about setting up camp.

It would have been easy to run then, he thought, with the way Geralt was distracted by his work, and in hindsight, Julian would wonder why he didn’t, but for that moment a gentle nudge at his back was enough to turn the boy’s attention to the horse that stood next to him, still tacked up for the moment. She was huge - bigger than any mare Julian had ever seen before - but her head was bent to him and she was whuffling gently at first his hair, and then his shirt and the pockets of his pants where he’d stored what little food he’d been able to steal.

Julian regretted for a moment that there wasn’t a carrot or some such left in his pocket, the big horse would probably appreciate the vegetable far more than he had, even half-starved. So he reached up and ever-so-carefully patted her velvety nose in apology. He didn’t want to be making more apologies that night, and adults always got angry if he didn’t do his chores, and, well, the mare’s head was already in his reach.

Julian was careful, he’d seen stablehands get bit by spooked horses, as he reached up and gently removed the bridle. He knew, of course, that you absolutely never removed the bridle first because your horse could run off with your things. He also knew from overhearing the stablehands from where he’d been tied to a post that one time that Witcher’s horses were legendary for how well they were trained so it was only a small surprise when the mare didn’t run off immediately but instead pressed her head to his torso and let him scratch behind her ears and jaw.

He wanted to get the saddle next but the mare was _big_ and Julian was decidedly _not_ which made that a far greater challenge than it might’ve been in a stable where he could climb a stall door or use a ladder. Well, he’d never been one to shy away from a challenge, and there was a probably climbable tree just behind where the horse stood - he wondered then if witchers named their horses because he needed something to call her other than horse - if he could just undo the straps that held the saddle in place.

That was the easy part, of course. Even if he didn’t have much, or anything, by way of practice at unsaddling a horse, the latches were easy enough to find and figure out, and he could at least reach them, even if it was a stretch. The horse - Julian was absolutely going to name her if he didn’t find out what her name was soon - had watched him the whole time and he swore there was an amused twinkle in those too-smart eyes as he struggled. The idea that she was too smart for a horse was only confirmed when, seeming to understand his internal debate over whether he should climb the tree or just drag the saddle down on top of himself and hope he didn’t break anything, she promptly laid down.

Julian wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth - and he was quite proud of himself for that pun even if no one was going to hear it - so he took the horse’s offer for what it was and dragged first the saddlebags and then the saddle off the horse, propping them on a conveniently placed stump. He’d quite forgotten about the reason he was untacking a horse, about the witcher he’d been given to like he was no more than a sack of coin they’d found instead of an actual child. In his defense, animals had always been quick to capture his attention. They were nicer than people, well, except for cats.

The clatter of a pile of wood hitting the ground behind him drew him back to the reality of the situation, however, and Julian stood stiff and waited for the yelling to start or the impact of a fist.

* * *

Geralt could count on one hand the number of times he’d been taken by surprise in the last decade at least, and two of those times had taken place within the last day, both of them to do with the strange child that set his medallion off any time he was near. He was fairly certain that this was absolutely not how children of surprise were supposed to work, given that the child wasn’t even theirs to give, but - and his brothers would tell him he’s going soft in his old age for it - that woman had made the boy’s arm bleed without a thought for it. He couldn’t just leave him there.

And then Roach, who didn’t like anyone and especially disliked children, not only let the boy touch her but was… playing with him? That didn’t seem right but was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with for why she was laying down. She was a _horse_ , a highly intelligent horse, but a horse nonetheless. She couldn’t possibly know what the boy needed from her without a word...right? But that seemed to be exactly the case because as soon as she was free of the saddle she was upright again and wandering over to a nice patch of flowers to graze.

The clatter of the firewood he’d gathered hitting the ground made Geralt wince and the boy flinch. The flowery scent of contentment turned to sour fear and the boy - Julian, he reminded himself - simply stood stiff as a board with his back to Geralt. What was he supposed to do with that? 

Ignoring the tugging sensation at his chest he refused to name, Geralt muttered a soft thanks for the help and went about setting up the fire like he had been before he took note of Roach’s strange behavior. This, at least, seemed to be the right thing to do because some of the tension released from the boy’s frame and he turned around to watch Geralt work.

He didn’t hunt that night. The boy was too likely to take the chance to run and Geralt didn’t think he’d survive the night alone in unfamiliar woods. He also didn’t want to lose his horse - it was hard to train a new one. He’d have to start hunting again soon or stop in the next town though, with the way Julian scarfed down the bread, cheese, and dried meat like it was the first meal he’d had in weeks. It might have been, by the looks of how scrawny he was. 

They’d stop in the next town, Geralt decided then. He could find the child a comfortable home or… no, the path was no place for a boy who couldn’t be more than five winters, best not to entertain the thought of keeping him around. He’d find him a home where he would have plenty of food and grow up into honest work as he should.

Geralt didn’t think children were supposed to be so quiet. Not that he had much experience with them to say for sure, but every child he’d seen in markets and inns and on the road was a loud, fidgety thing. Julian was almost unnaturally the opposite. He sat rigidly still in front of Geralt on Roach, and had only spoken once, hesitant and soft, to ask what the horse’s name was. If the boy shared the opinion of so many others on the name, he kept it to himself.

Hard as he seemed to be trying, the only part of himself Julian couldn’t seem to keep still was his hands, which did everything from pick at the holes in his shirt to scratching at the stitching in the saddle to finally settling on braiding and unbraiding a section of Roach’s mane over and over again. It was because of the braiding and the way his sleeves rolled up when he reached forward that Geralt noticed the metal cuff around the boy’s wrist. It looked too-tight and chafing and yet when he went to touch it to take a closer look, Julian jerked away and tugged his sleeve over his hand again.

The sharp, sour tang of fear filled his nose again. Geralt let it be, for the moment. If he was lucky, he’d find someone to take the boy and they could take care of it. Better to have another human try than a big scary witcher, he supposed. 

All his planning turned out to be for naught, however. 

They reached the town just as the sun was beginning to set, giving them just enough daylight to properly stable Roach and find the tavern before it got properly dark. It had been a long day, with summer soon approaching and the days still getting longer, and he could see the way it wore on Julian in the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes drooped. He didn’t even seem to have the energy to be scared when Geralt scooped him out of the saddle and settled him on the ground. A hot meal and a proper bed would set him to rights in no time.

He did manage the hot meal, at least, though not without a fight with the barkeep over how Geralt was being greedy, ordering two meals for himself when there were clearly many occupants to feed. 

“The second meal is for my companion,” Geralt had growled, gesturing down to the child who was very nearly leaning against him in his exhaustion. That, at least, had secured them the food, but Geralt also suspected it to be the reason for the growing disquiet in the room. With a hand placed behind Julian’s back - very carefully not touching this time - he led them to a table settled in a dark corner near the door and placed himself between the child and the rest of the room.

He wondered if it was purposeful that they waited until they were done eating and the boy had a full stomach again, or mere coincidence. A firm hand landed on Geralt’s shoulder just as Julian pushed his plate away. He only had time to see the boy’s eyes widen in fear before he raised to his full height and turned around in one swift move that sent his chair toppling over. The sound rang out in the deadly quiet of the tavern.

“You’re not welcome here no more, Witcher.” Crowed the one who’d grabbed him - a blacksmith, from the looks of things - false bravado filling his voice.

“The boy needs rest,” he growled back, adjusting his stance in preparation for a fight. 

“The boy’s not goin’ with the likes of you, child thief.” Spit another, a tanner by the smell of it. 

It was the blacksmith who threw the first punch, but it hardly counted as a fight because he did nothing more than block the punch and use the smith’s bodyweight to knock the other two off balance. It gave him enough time to scoop up his child and make a run for it, cursing the whole way the fact that they’d untacked Roach already.

If they were followed, it wasn’t with any measure of speed, and an hour later Geralt was left with nothing to do but whisper a soft apology to the boy who slept against his chest and ride on through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and I would love to know what you think - please leave comments they fuel my existence! I'm updating as I write and the total chapter number is a rough guess, so bear with me on that - I promise to try to keep updates within a week or two of each other.  
>  ~ Dandelion


	2. Be Good to Me I Beg of Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Chapter warnings include mentions of past abuse (slightly more detailed than last time, but still not graphic), panic attacks, and a child in distress.   
> Chapter title taken from That Unwanted Animal by The Amazing Devil

Things seemed to settle some between Geralt and Julian following nearly having to fight their way out of a tavern. Fear gave way to quiet, inquisitive glances from the boy, though he still spoke only if he absolutely had to. Not that Geralt was one to complain about the silence, but it was unnerving coming from a child. 

They found a routine of sorts together, traveling between towns at a slightly-slower-than-normal pace for the witcher. The first time that Geralt left to hunt their dinner was nerve-wracking, to say the least, but when he returned Roach was untacked and grazing, there was a pile of firewood gathered and waiting to be lit, and Julian was leaned up against a tree playing with a blessedly non-venomous snake. Geralt didn’t miss the way Julian’s eyes lit up when he used igni, and he seemed to be about to ask about it with all the amazement of a child who’d never seen magic before, but then he caught Geralt’s gaze and clammed up again. 

After that, Geralt was reasonably sure that the boy wasn’t planning to run off, and he allowed himself to relax a bit. Julian seemed to relax too, daring to speak one afternoon to ask if he might walk next to Roach instead of ride. He didn’t say why, but then it wasn’t hard to guess that such a small child wouldn’t be used to riding for long days and was saddle sore. Geralt couldn’t say he minded stretching out his muscles either - he’d given his bedroll to the boy and sleeping on the ground every night was taking its toll.

It was like he was an entirely different being the moment that his feet hit the ground. The solemn child that sat painfully still and stiff and didn’t dare utter a sound exploded into a flurry of activity, darting from snatching up a shiny bauble or rock from the path to plucking summer wildflowers and twisting them together in increasingly more complex patterns. 

The boy never wandered far, staying within Geralt’s sight and hearing at all times, but he didn’t stray too close either unless he was draping another flower wreath somewhere on Roach - which she gracefully refrained from eating - or if Geralt was offering him food. Geralt even caught him speaking sometimes, murmuring softly to the endless stream of field mice, lizards, and on one notable occasion a sparrow he played with. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a human, child or otherwise, so in tune with nature. 

A small voice in the back of his mind wondered idly if Julian would ever be so open with him as he was with the creatures he held. The answering voice sounded far too much like Vesemir for comfort.  _ You have to wait, pup. They need time. They know you’re there, and they’ll come to you when they’re ready to do so and not a moment before. _ Geralt scoffed to himself at the idea of utilizing advice meant to coax an antsy foal out of hiding on a human child instead. Of course, Vesemir would probably know the right thing to say for that too, having raised more than enough young boys to know what he was doing.

For Julian’s part, he didn’t think he’d been anything so close to content before. He was well-fed, didn’t have any boring lessons with cruel instructors, and Geralt didn’t seem to mind what he did so long as he stayed close. The witcher was different from other grown-ups. He didn’t make demands or scold or hit Julian when he accidentally broke a grown-up-rule, and he was quiet, never screaming like all the other grown-ups he knew did. 

He was still careful, of course, doing his best to remember and follow all the grown-up-rules just in case. Geralt was bigger and stronger than anyone Julian had ever met, even that one witcher who’d come to Lettenhove to hunt a monster there. He didn’t doubt that if the witcher ever got mad it would be so much worse than the punishments his Papa could give. So he followed the rules and he was so still it hurt and he didn’t ask all the questions burning in the back of his throat and he didn’t ask for more food than he was given even if sometimes he was still a little hungry after and he never, ever cried even if he wanted to some nights.

Getting to walk instead of ride made the rules more bearable - even if he wasn’t supposed to ask questions and talk about all the things he thought, he didn’t see the harm in talking to the field mice and lizards or that one sparrow that had landed in the palm of his hand. And if Geralt ever heard him, he didn’t say anything about it.

It took them a week in total to reach another town, this one larger than the small village they’d been run out of. Julian recognized the preparations for Belleteyn as they rode in late in the afternoon. There were no people bustling around any longer, but it had always been his favorite time of year, and there was no mistaking the silhouette of the maypole against the setting sun.

The inn they found was cleaner, and it’s people seemed less inclined to pay the witcher and his companion any mind, but Julian stayed as close to Geralt as he could without touching and eyed the room warily as they walked in. He didn’t miss the tension in the witcher’s shoulders that wasn’t there on the path or when they camped at night, and he wasn’t going to soon forget the fear of strange men threatening to take him away. 

“A room, a bath, and two meals,” Geralt demanded. If the innkeeper was troubled by the lack of pleasantries he was adept at hiding it. The man peered down at Julian, who was definitely  _ not _ hiding half behind Geralt’s bulk. He was braver than that, thank you very much.

“I only have a single left, if that suits, Master Witcher?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he reached for a key on the wall behind him and handed it over. “Up the stairs, third door on the right, I’ll have the rest sent up. By Melitele are we glad to see the likes of you!”

Julian thought the Innkeeper ought to be breathless for the way he didn’t seem to breathe between words, but the man seemed entirely unfazed. It was impressive.

“You’ve a contract?”

“Indeed we do, I’ll have my Lucy lead you to the Alderman in the morning.”

Julian had so many questions. Was this always how it went? Were people only nice when they had work for a witcher? Why did they have to go to the Alderman? Did Geralt know there would be monsters here? Why were the people in the last village so unkind? He bit his tongue so hard it hurt to keep all the words from tumbling out as they settled into their room. 

There was only one bed, which made Julian a little sad. He missed beds with their soft mattresses and pillows and blankets and warmth. But, well, he wouldn’t dare hope that Geralt would let him have the bed, but he’d let him have the bedroll in their travels, so maybe he’d bring it up so that there’d be something between Julian and the floor. He could let himself hope for that much. And his hopes were met when the witcher returned from untacking Roach - which he didn’t do until  _ after _ they’d seen what their reception would be - with the bedroll tucked under his arm and the saddlebags thrown over his shoulder. 

Their food - a thick, hearty stew - followed Geralt in and was placed on the little table at the window. Julian almost beat the food to the table, tripping and stumbling over his feet in his haste to get there. In his defense, it smelled  _ heavenly _ and his stomach had been grumbling for nearly half an hour. He glanced worriedly at the witcher who made his way much more sedately to the table, but there was no anger in his face at the lack of manners so he turned his focus back to the food before him and ate every morsel except the chunks of carrot, which he glared at resolutely until Geralt scooped them up into his own dish.

Julian had been ready to sit at the table all night, just as had been usual every time there were carrots on the menu at Lettenhove, so was surprised to find the offending vegetable not only removed but replaced with a few pieces of potato, which he promptly devoured with as much gusto as he had the rest of the meal.

Washing the dust of the path and sweat from the summer heat off of his skin had never felt so good. Geralt had let him in the bath first, which grown-ups never did before, and it was still blessedly hot. The soap was his favorite part though because it didn’t choke him with the way it smelled but instead left behind the mild and pleasant scent of chamomile. He could’ve soaked until he wrinkled up all over like a prune, but grown-ups didn’t like that and Geralt had been so nice already so as soon as Julian was clean he left the bath. 

He didn’t have any clothes other than the ones he’d been traveling in that he’d washed in a stream a couple of times, so the witcher had given him a worn shirt that was almost too big to even be a dress, the sleeves falling far past the ends of his hands. The sight of it was comical, even to Julian, and it made the witcher grin if a slight upturn of the mouth could be called that. But a somewhat-smile meant he wasn’t mad at the inconvenience, and that was enough to put Julian at ease for the time being.

Clean and well sated, the exhaustion of the last week caught up to Julian. He made his bed with the bedroll and was asleep long before Geralt had finished with his own bath. Of course, he hadn’t intended the bedroll for the child, figuring that at least a bedroll on an even floor would be better than the hard forest floor, but with the boy already asleep, he found himself melting in the soft mattress instead.

It had been a rather large nest of drowners that had taken the lives of a group of boys playing down in the river. That, at least, explained why the townsfolk hadn’t received him or the boy poorly. There was nothing in the world like the loss of a child to remind people why Witcher’s were created in the first place; they needed a barrier between them and the horrors that lurked in the dark. Geralt was grateful, at least, that it was a warm night and the breeze was pleasant against his soaked armor rather than chilling. He still had another hour’s walk to get back to the inn, but with Julian likely long since asleep he could take his time and use the moment alone to think.

It was easy enough to see that the boy was pushing at his limits, seeing what he could get away with and what he couldn’t. Geralt had seen Lambert do it often enough as he grew up to recognize the tactic. The problem was that that implied Julian had gone through a hell not too different from Lambert’s and the idea didn’t settle right with Geralt. Maybe he really had gone soft in his old age - he  _ was _ older than most people’s grandparents, after all - but he was growing attached to the young boy who he still knew so little about. 

It had almost ached to see the way he’d stared at the alderman in pure disbelief when he was offered a book of children’s tales not just to read while negotiations were made, but to keep because he’d been staring at the bookshelf with so much longing it was tangible. The book had belonged to the alderman’s grandsons, both of whom had been lost to the drowners. 

“It’ll do my heart good to see it loved again,” the alderman had said, and that had been that. Or it should have been, but if it had almost ached when Julian couldn’t believe the offer, it had been downright agonizing when he’d looked at Geralt and the light had died in his eyes before he could even ask permission. He’d vowed to himself then and there to never put that look on the boy’s face ever again if he could help it. 

The rest of the afternoon had passed easily, with Julian so wholly consumed by his book that Geralt actually had to prompt him to stop and eat. He’d noted at lunch how the boy had stopped using his right arm to eat, favoring it more heavily than he had in the days before. When he said as much, however, he was brushed off with a muttered, “I’m fine,” so he made a note to himself to stop by a healer before they left town. It wouldn’t do for the child to get an infection from the way that cuff had been chafing. Perhaps even stop by the blacksmith and get it resized properly if it was of sentimental value.

Despite the warmth of the night, Geralt was glad to be in sight of the town again. Wet armor, even if it wasn’t freezing him to the bone, was far from comfortable. He could feel raw spots forming in more than one place from the way it chafed. And so once Roach was settled, he didn’t even bother to stop for an ale or to listen to the surprisingly good bard that had the whole place in an uproar and instead made a beeline for the room he shared with his child. A beeline that was stopped in its tracks the moment he opened the door and was slapped in the face by the sharp stench of panic.

_ Something was wrong _ and it sent Geralt’s instincts on overdrive, scanning the room in such a frenzy that he almost missed the way Julian was curled around himself, glassy-eyed and rocking, by the saddlebags he’d left behind. The saddlebags he’d left behind so that the boy would know that he was coming back because he remembered the way Lambert had given him the cold shoulder his first winter back from the path.

Ever so careful not to make any sudden noises, Geralt gently latched the door behind him and leaned his swords on the wall before approaching Julian slowly in a low crouch. He recognized the look in those too-distant eyes, the way his chest barely moved as he breathed too-fast, and the sound of his rabbit-fast heart. 

“Julian,” Geralt murmured, and those bright blue eyes that he’d seen suppressed as well as sparking with life snapped up but didn’t  _ see _ . The boy curled tighter into himself, hands going to claw at his hair as he hid his face in his knees. 

“No, no, no, no,” He sobbed, “I didn’t mean to I’m sorry I didn’t mean to please don’t hurt me!”

If Geralt ever found the family that had dared… he’d treat them for the monsters they were and they’d meet his silver. But that was a thought for another time.

“I won’t hurt you,” Geralt soothed, though the words were likely falling on deaf ears. “Can I touch your hand?”

He didn’t get an answer but the boy only flinched slightly at the light touch of Geralt’s hand on his own, and he didn’t resist when that hand was pulled to Geralt’s chest. “I need you to breathe with me.”

He made his breathing an exaggerated motion. It took time, but Julian’s breathing eventually deepened to ragged sobs and then smoothed out so that it was almost normal again. It was a step at least, and when those too-bright eyes looked up at him again he could tell that they were actually seeing him there. 

“You’re not mad?” Julian asked in a small voice that sounded far too close to breaking.

“Why would I be?” 

This was either the worst thing Geralt could have possibly answered with or the best because Julian promptly dissolved into another round of chest-heaving sobs that seemed to shake his whole thin frame. He hoped that it was the latter and did just what he remembered Vesemir doing when he was no bigger than the trembling boy before was, he pulled him to his chest and just held on until Julian had cried himself out and to sleep.

He let the boy have the bed, tucking him in snug and secure. No sense in letting it go to waste when there was no way Geralt was going to see sleep anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos make my day so please let me know what you think!   
> ~ Dandelion


	3. When I Show that I'm Flawed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings include: specific but not graphic examples of child abuse, injury, fainting, mild panic, and scarring on a child
> 
> I typed this one up mostly on my phone while wearing a wrist brace (harder than you'd think) because while power finally came back after our week of winter from hell, I still have no internet.Sorry for any extra mistakes!

Geralt wasn’t good at talking about feelings as a standard, let alone with a child who had been through more than children should ever have to suffer. Julian didn’t seem to think that he was allowed to talk at all, let alone about feelings. Geralt and Julian needed to have a conversation about feelings, and the former didn’t know where to start while the latter was content to pretend nothing had happened at all.

Well, content was a stretch of the imagination. It was more that he was doing everything in his power to pretend that nothing had happened, and he was failing to be quite so convincing as all that. He picked solemnly at the scrambled eggs and sausage on his plate, both of which Geralt knew he didn’t dislike because he didn’t have the same stubborn set to his jaw that he got with carrots.  _ Fucking carrots. _

Geralt never thought he’d see the day that he couldn’t stand the silence, but the stiffness in the room was stifling and the scrape of utensils on dishware was grating on his nerves and he hadn’t even been able to properly meditate the night before. It was enough to get him to  _ try. _

“What happened last night?” Geralt finally asked, giving up on his breakfast for the time being. And there was that look again. That startled, fearful, wary look that no child should ever have from such a simple question. “You’re not in trouble, but I still need to know what happened.”

Julian didn’t answer for a long moment, but he did stop picking mindlessly at his food and seemed to genuinely be considering the question, or maybe weighing how much he should say and how much he shouldn’t. Geralt let him have the silence. He was all too familiar with how hard it was to pick the  _ right _ words - he’d gotten in more trouble over the years for taking too long to answer than he had for any answers he’d been given the chance to give. Finally, Julian looked up again with a determined glint in his eye.

“You locked the door,” was the simple answer, given in a small voice as blue eyes regarded Geralt carefully. He frowned in confusion, but took care not to alter his posture lest he scare the boy like the skittish colts Vesemir had trained him to gentle. “Papa -” the boy paused, as if considering taking back words he hadn’t even said yet, “Papa used to lock the door when I had to wait for punishments.”

It was Geralt’s turn to be quiet for a while. He took several deep breaths to steady himself and forced his focus past the mounting horror that each new revelation of the boy's past inspired and instead focused on how to fix it, or at least make sure that he wasn’t the cause of such overwhelming fear a second time for the same reason. Geralt was under no illusion that there wouldn’t be other instances, other reasons, but if he could at least resolve  _ this one…. _

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered. They weren’t words he said often - and from the look on Julian’s face, they weren’t offered often either - but he meant them. He’d prove it, too, and make sure that eventually the boy would understand just how much he meant them. Which meant that he needed a solution that didn’t leave his child unprotected when he went on hunts. “What if next time you locked the door instead?”

Julian picked up his fork and chomped thoughtfully on a bite of egg. Geralt celebrated the small victory silently. The kid was too skinny to be skipping meals, especially when he insisted on walking more than riding between towns. “Okay.”

The rest of their meal passed much more peacefully, but as Geralt gathered up their dishes to take back downstairs, he recalled the invitation from the innkeep.

“Stay here a couple nights more, Master Witcher,” the man had said, “as my thanks - those beasts took my nephew - and let that boy of yours enjoy the festival.”

Geralt had mumbled something about needing to think about it, but truthfully, he hadn’t planned to accept. He knew better than to overstay his welcome, and would never forgive himself if little Julian got hurt because he did. Destiny may have saddled the child with the misfortune of being a witcher’s travelling companion, but short of outright denying destiny, Geralt would do everything in his power to ease that burden.

As he watched his child surprise, noting the slowness of his movements and how exhaustion seemed to have seeped into his very bones, he changed his mind. They needed supplies anyway, and there would be more vendors and specialty wares available during the festival.

The innkeep, of course, was more than ecstatic to hear that Geralt was accepting his generous offer and promptly chatted on, giving the witcher more information than he possibly needed about the town, its inhabitants, and their traditions. Some of it was useful though, like which seamstress was the best for sturdy travelling clothes, and how the healer tended to be rather busy on the first day of celebrations, but less so on the second. Geralt made a note to take Julian to the healer the following morning then to resolve any issues with that cuff on his arm, and headed back up to their room to give him the news that they’d be staying a little longer.

Despite his headache and the heavy weight of exhaustion in his bones, Julian could barely contain his excitement. He loved Belletyn and all its flowers, dancing, and sweets. To get to attend  _ with permission _ instead of looking over his shoulder and praying desperately to Melitele that he didn't get caught wasn't an opportunity he could pass up no matter how tired. 

Geralt took a moment to compile a list of supplies that they'd need to get at the market, occasionally asking Julian to hand him something or count something else. He was glad for the busywork, because he could feel himself nearly buzzing with impatience and the desire to  _ go.  _ Finally, after what felt like several hours but was probably only one and a few amused glances from Geralt, they were off. 

The market was already in full swing, bustling and busy and full of life. There were planters full of flowers  _ everywhere  _ alongside woven wreaths, garlands, and arches around every stall and doorway. They filled the air with a sweet perfume. Bards played at not quite safe distances from each other, creating a blend of melodies and bled into each other. The sights and smells and sounds of it all nearly made Julian forget himself. 

"Stay close," Geralt admonished gently, but even he was smiling. At least, as close to a smile as he seemed to get, which is to say that there was a softness to his expression that wasn't usually there. Julian only hesitated a moment before reaching up to put his hand in the witcher's, and when Geralt didn't tell him that men don't hold hands like that, he kept it there. 

They went to the saddler first, presumably because they didn't have room for all the things they were going to get through the day. Julian breathed deeply the smell of leather and saddle wax and flowers that permeated the area and was content to just listen as they waited for the vendor to be free to assist them. The way he haggled with the customer ahead of them was familiar, friendly banter, the kind that Julian delighted in when he would sneak out to the markets in Lettenhove. 

He tried to contain himself, he really did. But he was  _ tired _ and his self control was slipping, so when he heard the price that the saddle tried to quote Geralt for the same style of saddlebags he'd sold to the customer before, he couldn't stop himself. 

"That's not  _ fair _ !" he cried out. Geralt went stiff next to him, but he couldn't help but continue when the saddler arched an eyebrow at him. He'd accept whatever punishment was coming later. "That's double the cost you said for the same thing just a moment ago!" 

Julian was not prepared for the man to start laughing, but laugh he did, and Geralt seemed to relax. 

"Shrewd little thing, are you?" The man said, still laughing. "Alright, Witcher, your companion here has caught me out. I'll give them to you for the same as the smith's boy just now." 

Geralt gave Julian's hand a soft squeeze and let go so he could count out the coin. If he was upset about the outburst, he didn't say anything about it and instead took his hand again as they left the Saddler's stall and headed for the seamstress. She was absolutely taken with Julian, pinching his cheeks and stuffing sweets in his hands as she exclaimed over how he was too skinny. And if all her cooing meant she charged them more than fairly? Well, Julian wasn't going to complain, even if it  _ was  _ kind of uncomfortable. 

He was glad to have Geralt's hand as the day wore on and they went vendor to vendor in a whirlwind of exchanged coin and a growing pile of supplies. It was almost dizzying, and then more than almost. Even if it meant he couldn't scamper around as he might usually, the constant contact kept him grounded in the chaos and bustle of the crowds. 

"Do you want to go play with them?" Geralt asked, startling Julian out of his daze. He realized then that his gaze had settled over some other children playing knucklebones in front of a vendor selling toys and he found himself nodding without really thinking about it. He did like knucklebones, after all. "Stay there, I'll come get you." 

Julian found himself drifting without the reassuring warmth of Geralt's hand in his, but be did make it across the path somehow, and he thought that the other kids has told him he could watch so that's what he did until they all scampered off for another activity. They invited him along but Geralt had told him to stay put and he really didn't want to disappoint the witcher who'd been so nice and held his hand all day and  _ apologized _ . So instead he found himself glancing at the toys in the stall he was near, settling on a fluffy stuffed mouse that looked like the field mice he got to play with because it wasn't against Geralt's rules to do so. 

Eventually, he turned his head away and started scanning the crowds for Geralt. Even if the witcher had been nice and even if it probably wasn't against the rules to ask, Julian wasn't unaware that most of the supplies they were getting were for him. Papa had made sure he knew that all the things he needed cost precious coin and that he should know better than to ask for more when so much was being used on him already. So he wouldn't ask for the mouse, even if it did look  _ so soft.  _

Geralt didn't come from the direction he was expecting, so he nearly yelped when a hand landed on his shoulder, only relaxing when he saw who it was. Julian hoped that the witcher's arrival meant that they were done for the day. He  _ ached _ and it was  _ hot _ even though the sun was starting to set and he really just wanted to go to sleep. 

"Thank you for staying," Geralt said in greeting, "how about we find food?" 

Julian wasn't hungry, but he nodded anyway and let Geralt take his hand again and lead them back toe the inn, which was blessedly quiet and cooler than it was outside, even if it still felt too warm. Everything seemed like it was at a distance though, so the too-hot burn in his skin wasn't terribly hard to ignore. 

The innkeeper said something to him, but he didn't really hear it and blinked up at him in confusion. Was he just being very quiet? Julian tried to look up at Geralt to see if he knew why the innkeeper was being quiet, but there were two Geralts, and then there were none at all. 

Geralt had thought that Julian was just tired, worn out from a long day in the summer sun, and maybe a bit overwhelmed by the crowds. But then he was collapsing and his skin was far too hot and he wasn't waking up. 

_ Fuck.  _

He called frantically for a healer between attempts to get Julian to respond to something,  _ anything.  _ Julian didn't respond, but he was still breathing. 

_ He was still breathing. _

It wasn't much, but it was enough to give Geralt the will to pull himself together, gather his child up in his arms, and follow someone he didn't recognize through crowds that parted like water all the way to the healer's door. 

It was the cuff.  _ Of course it was the cuff.  _ He should have insisted on seeing it sooner, but the boy was just barely beginning to trust him and that trust was such a fragile thing. A disapproving look from the healer at the state of the infection had Geralt explaining the situation as briefly as he could because they couldn't afford another mob.  _ Julian needed help.  _

Which is how he wound up riding hard into the middle of the surrounding woodland with his child clutched against his chest while fighting against the effects of magical wards meant to disorient and confuse. The healer had done their best to give Julian a fighting chance, but the cuff was magical in nature and would need a mage to ensure its safe removal. They'd tried to send him two towns over, but he didn't have that kind of time if there was a capable mage closer than that, no matter how antisocial. 

In hindsight, it probably wasn't the most intelligent move he'd made in all his years. 

The stifling press of magic against his skin lifted, leaving only anxiety to suffocate him in its place. A cozy looking cottage came into view and for the first time since the healer told him that there was naught they could do, he felt hope bloom hot and fierce in his chest. Maybe,  _ just maybe _ , Julian would be okay. Melitele help him, he needed something to go right,  _ just this once.  _

The witch, a raven haired woman with flashing violet eyes, met them outside. 

"Few dare to disturb me here, Witcher." She called as he dismounted with a silent apology to Roach and the promise of extra sugarcubes and flowers in her mane when Julian was well again.  _ If _ Julian was well again. 

"I don't have time for your games, the boy needs help." Geralt growled as he marched past her and towards the still-open door that was invitation enough for him. 

"Why hello, I'm Geralt of Rivia, it's nice to meet you Yennefer." She grumbled after him, but followed with no less urgency in her step. "Upstairs, last door on the left."

The room was set up like a noble's bedchamber, all carved wooden furnishings and heavy fabrics and depressing paintings. But the shelves held a variety of implements and ingredients to be used in spellwork. 

Geralt laid Julian out on the plush bed, brushing a stray hair away from his feverish brow as he made sure the boy was settled in some fashion that at least looked comfortable. 

"If you don't stop fussing like a mother hen I won't be able to get to him let alone focus." Yennefer snapped. The push she gave Geralt wasn't enough to send him stumbling, but the threat of not having proper care for Julian was. "The baths are downstairs, and before you argue, it smells so strongly of horse in this room I could swear your mount was in here with you."

The message was clear enough.  _ Leave. Stop your hovering. You're in the way.  _ So against every instinct he had, against every bone in his body screaming at him to  _ stay close, protect _ , and certainly against his better judgement, Geralt left his child alone with the witch. 

Geralt took his time exploring the manor-within-a-cottage as he made his way in what he hoped was the right direction to the baths. Mages tended to get testy when they found someone where they shouldn't be. He couldn't be too surprised that the cottage was more than it seemed, if those wards were anything to go by, the witch was more powerful than most. Why settle for anything so small when the world was at her fingertips? 

He did eventually find himself in the bathroom, which was blissfully free of heavy fragrances. Steam rose what was nearly a pool sunken into the floor, and as he let his admittedly sore body sink into its depths he was reminded how long it had been since he'd had a proper rest. Any other time, he would have found it incredibly relaxing. Any other time, he might've let himself drift off in the bath until it cooled or his aches melted away, whichever happened first. As it was, he struggled to make himself sit still and take his time washing away the dirt and sweat and press of other bodies. 

By the time Yennefer showed up, Geralt was nearly trembling with the tension between the part of him that needed to know his child was okay and the part of him that dared not interfere lest he cause  _ more _ problems. 

"The child will be fine," she said in greeting, as if taking mercy on the witcher's frazzled state, "but I'd very much like to know how he got to be in such a condition." 

At her gesture, Geralt turned around to give her the privacy to undress and join him in the bath. For the second time that day, he found the tale spilling from his lips, this time in greater detail and in fits and bursts as he struggled to find the  _ right  _ words. But she listened with patience, never once interrupting, and when he was done she sat in silence a moment longer, the soft lapping of water the only sound in the room. 

"You care for him." She finally stated. It was no grand revelation, there was no surprise to color her tone, it was a simple observation. 

"Hard not to," was his equally simple reply. 

Geralt suppressed the need to see for himself that Yennefer's words were true and instead made his way back outside after his bath to see to Roach, who still stood where he left her, fully tacked a d carrying everything he had scrambled to pack from their room at the inn. Roach didn't even try to nip him in retribution for leaving her in such a state for so long as she might have on any other night. 

It was only when she was properly cared for and settled in the small stable to the side of the cottage that Geralt took the saddlebags and headed for the room where he'd left Julian. Yennefer was there, in a chair reading a heavy tome, but the boy in the bed was not the same boy he'd see bouncing through fields and putting flower crowns on Roach. He was undeniably Julian, his features and scent still more or less the same, and yet he was someone -  _ something _ \- else entirely. 

Short blond curls had been replaced with ragged brown locks that splayed across the pillow and parted around long, pointed ears. Pink flushed skin had turned almost blue, and were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest and the too-fast patter of his heart, Geralt would be worried that the witch had lied.  _ And then there were the scars _ . Scars that wouldn't be out of place on a witcher who'd seen decades on the path littered the boy's bare arms and face, telling a horrific story that managed to turn even Geralt's stomach. 

"It was a glamour," Yennefer growled from where she sat, tome now closed, glaring at the cuff on the table in front of her with such an intensity Geralt was surprised it didn't burn. "an extremely powerful one at that, laced with  _ iron. _ "

The last word, spat with enough venom to melt the very metal from which the offending object was made, sent everything falling into place in Geralt's mind. The boy was a  _ faery _ , probably a changeling if he had to guess, and had been punished for not being the human child he was supposed to be. 

Geralt approached the bed slowly, as though his mere presence might break the sleeping child. The saddlebags he'd slung over his shoulders hit the floor with a soft  _ thud _ after he retrieved what he needed from them, and with an uncharacteristic hesitancy he  _ oh so carefully  _ placed the object in the boy's arms. 

It was the small stuffed mouse he'd caught Julian staring at with so much longing and had purchased as a surprise. The drowner contract had paid well, he'd justified, but really it wouldn't have mattered what coin he had, he just wanted to see the boy smile. Julian sighed in his sleep and curled around the stuffed creature. It wasn't a smile, but it was enough. 

"There's the matter of payment to discuss," the witch said as she stood behind him, tome set aside and the iron cuff gripped in hand. It was Geralt's turn to sigh. He knew this was coming, and hoped he had the coin to cover it after the expenses of the day prior. "My services don't come free."

"How much?" 

"I don't want your coin, Witcher."  _ Of course not, _ that would be too  _ simple.  _ "The path is no place for a child, especially one who's suffered so much. I want you to leave the boy with me."

There was an intensity in her eyes and expression and a rigidity in her posture that dared him to deny her what she wanted. But deny her he would. He'd seen first hand what happened to those who denied the bonds of destiny and he'd not put the child through that. He said as much, and mentally prepared to snatch his child up and run like hell from an angry, powerful mage who'd just been denied what she wanted. He was surprised then to see her pause to consider his words instead. 

"He's a faery," she began, choosing her words slowly and with care, "he has a natural connection to the earth and to chaos." 

He listened intently as Yennefer detailed out a plan that allowed her the season to train the boy in the magic he undoubtedly possessed without separating him from his destiny. Julian and Geralt would stay until Mabon, Yennefer portalling Geralt to nearby towns for contracts so that he was not ignoring his duty. It wasn't a bad plan, well thought out for the time that she'd had to come up with it, and with little adjustment necessary to make it work. 

"Let me have this season and I'll consider the debt paid."

For being a payment, it weighed heavily in his and Julian's favor. But, looking back at the small child curled tightly on his side in a bed that nearly swallowed him, Geralt was reminded of the conversation in the baths.  _ You care for him _ , and  _ hard not to _ , and he thought maybe he understood at least a little. 

So he agreed, and finally did what his very bones had been begging him to do. He laid down next to his child and he  _ stayed _ and  _ protected.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that actual dialogue? Shocking!  
> Sorry for the delay in updates, I'm currently working through a recent family loss and wasn't feeling particularly inspired. Updates may get a little more chaotic and unpredictable but I'm still writing!  
> I love hearing your thoughts so be sure to leave a comment!  
> \- Dandelion


	4. Just How Feeble We Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this beyond referenced past abuse/torture, but nothing detailed or graphic. Enjoy!

The summer had passed by in a blur, which, if Geralt was honest, was not so different from every other summer of his existence were it not for the content of the moments that stuck out from all the rest.  _ Those, _ he thought, were very different from anything that he’d ever had to face, both in their challenges and in the sheer amount of unadulterated joy they’d brought. 

He thought back to waking up with a bundle of child and blanket curled against his chest, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a mere child himself, and he and Eskel would seek comfort from each other on hard days. Little Julian’s stirrings had woken him from what was probably the most restful sleep he’d had since winter, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be grumpy as he might’ve been if it was anything else that had woken him. He’d been so worried for the boy, even with Yennefer’s reassurances that he was fine, and there he was, proving her words right. A tight knot had eased in his chest. 

Big blue eyes had met his own and they’d practically glowed with how bright they were. Geralt had watched, mesmerized as a series of emotions flitted across the boy’s face. He was so much more expressive with the way his long ears tipped, flicked, and swerved, and how his eyes would glow and dim and swirl with his mood and as he took in his surroundings. He’d taken care to memorize every expression - confusion, alarm, relief, fear - that moved across Julian’s face, both because it was the most open he’d ever seen his child and because he wanted to protect the fragile trust that was growing between them. 

It was that trust, afterall, that had been the difference between fear and panic when the boy had noticed that the cuff - and thus the glamour that had hidden what he was - was gone. He’d frozen, watching Geralt so carefully, as though a deer who’d caught sight of the hunter that meant it to be dinner. He’d promised that  _ he didn’t do it _ and when Geralt had told him he knew that, with nothing more than confusion coloring his tone that trust had meant the difference between returning that confusion and outright disbelief. 

Geralt was never going to forget the way that too-small and oh-so-fragile frame had crashed back into his chest, or the way the boy had profusely and repeatedly thanked him, as if telling him he didn’t have to wear that cuff was the most profoundly kind thing anyone had ever done for him. And it might have been. But he would also never forget the way the warmth in his chest died when he caught sight of Julian’s back, and the large, circular scars under his shoulder blades, which sat right where a faery’s wings were meant to be, if the bestiaries were correct in their diagrams. 

“Humans don’t have wings.” Julian had said, eyes downcast and ears pressed down in shame.

_ But faeries do. _ He’d thought. 

The soft clink of glasses brought Geralt back to the present moment. It was their last night in Yennefer’s cozy mansion of a cottage, and Julian was safely sound asleep in bed. It’d taken some extra bribery to get him there - he hadn’t wanted to miss a single moment with Yen before their departure in the morning, but she’d promised him a large breakfast of all his favorite things and he’d finally relented.

She handed Geralt a glass of strong spirits and sat down with a glass of her own on the other half of the loveseat he occupied, leaning against the armrest and pulling her legs up underneath her. For as imposing and powerful a sorceress as she was, Yennefer could also make herself small and soft, a tool he’d seen her employ with Julian, and that had him warming up to her far more quickly than he had to Geralt. Though, it hadn’t been enough to keep the boy from hiding behind his witcher when they were first introduced, something which had had a burst of warmth and pride forming in his chest. 

It didn’t take the two long to bond though. Julian had been climbing a tree out by the stables not quite a fortnight from when they’d arrived when he’d fallen from the branches and landed with a familiar crack that Geralt’s sensitive ears picked up from where he’d been trying to meditate in the garden. Yennefer had taken in his alarmed expression and made it to the boy’s side faster than even the fastest witcher he knew could have done. 

The boy had broken his arm and - much to Geralt’s relief - not his head, and after Yen had taken the time to heal it with the only stern words being what exactly he was not to be doing with that arm and for how long, they seemed to form a fast bond. She didn’t even say anything when all of the carrots in her garden mysteriously died despite the fact that unlike Julian,  _ she _ was fond of them.

“You’re smiling.” Yen pointed out from her seat next to him. “What are you thinking?”

“Carrots.”

“ _ Carrots _ ?”

“And of how close you and Julian have grown,” Geralt answered honestly. Yennefer had become something of a friend to him. He wondered if, in another life, they might have been lovers. She was undeniably attractive, and it would be a lie if he tried to say he didn’t desire her in some capacity. But what they had in this life was a soft, platonic partnership and centered around the small and concerningly traumatized child in their care. He couldn’t say that he was altogether unhappy about that either. 

She gave a soft smile and admitted, “I’ll miss him.” The look that accompanied the statement said what she didn’t, that she’d miss Geralt too. They walked a strange sort of line together, both headstrong, scarred people who’d seen more pain in their long lives than could possibly be described. Neither was truly willing to admit to being soft, or showing it too much, but both were undeniably so for the faery child who slept soundly in the rooms above them. He too, had seen more pain in the short few years he’d existed than any could possibly dream of - he deserved everything that was soft and good. 

“And he you,” Geralt murmured, “which he has made abundantly clear.”

Yennefer laughed at that, her violet eyes twinkling in the light of the nearby fireplace. The sun had long since retreated below the horizon and the fire was the only source of light in the room. It was nostalgic and left him thinking of the nights spent with his brothers, playing gwent and sharing stories in front of the fire. He wondered if they’d believe all the stories he had to tell of his year - by the time they reached Kaer Morhen he’d have had his child with him for over two seasons, and the boy was capable of getting into endless trouble, he’d proved that plenty. 

Like the time Julian had convinced Yennefer to let him go with Geralt on a hunt despite the witcher’s protests that it was dangerous. He’d still yet to get from her just how the boy had convinced her that it was  _ educational _ , but he strongly suspected that a well placed pout as heart wrenching as that of a kicked puppy was at fault. That and the contract was for a ‘witch in the woods’ which was most often code for ‘old widow with a garden’, but there was that one time that it was a grave hag instead. The boy had been more likely to get sweets than hurt, and once that pout was turned on him it was a lost battle. 

It had neither been an old widow with a garden nor a grave hag, but instead an Elven woman gifted with Chaos. She’d refused the term sorceress, claiming that she accessed chaos in a far different, more natural way, but she was not truly a druid either. She’d been quite taken with the young fae child and in thanks for the warning that the nearest town had a contract on her head, had gifted the boy with a lyre, which he’d hardly put down for a whole week following and was still wholly enchanted by.

“You get so lost in your head, Geralt.” Yennefer scolded lightly, nudging his leg with her bare toes. 

“Hm,” He hummed into his glass, making her roll her eyes at him. She’d made it well known that he had to use his words to communicate instead of, in her words, ‘a vocabulary limited to grunts, hums, and the lone word fuck’. He’d never admit it, though the tell-tale upward curve of his lips probably said more than enough, but he enjoyed doing it to get a rise out of her now. “What will you do now?”

It would be an innocent question if there weren’t genuine concern laced in his tone. Her smile melted away and she sighed softly, staring forlornly into the fire. “Tissaia contacted me.”

He frowned too. She’d told him some weeks back of how after thirty years at court and the loss, the assassination, of a child in her care, she’d cut ties with the brotherhood. It had been the last in a list of many tragedies that they’d turned a blind eye to, and she couldn’t anymore. He’d seen the burning fury in her eyes then, and it returned, reflecting the heat of the fire that kept the room warm in the chill of an early fall night. “You’re going back.”

She nodded, sighing again. “One of their own has pushed too far, and I would be a hypocrite to sit idly by.”

“Julian is insisting on coming back next summer, for the festival, and then to stay with you again.” It sounded like a subject change, if one weren’t paying attention, but like Geralt, Yennefer was always paying attention. She saw right through the casualness of his statement. 

“Well I’m flattered that you care so much!” She mocked, empty hand flying to her chest as she feigned shock. The playfulness faded away quickly. “I’ll be here.”

There was so much conviction in her tone, and such a raw fire in her eyes as she met his gaze, that he had no choice but to believe that she really would. She was Yennefer, the most powerful sorceress of his acquaintance, and his friend. If not for him, if not to keep her word, she’d come back for the boy. He’d well and truly turned not one but two stony people to something soft as sand in his hands. Geralt was certain too that Julian had done it without the slightest idea of the impact he had on them. 

“So will we.” Geralt answered with just as much conviction.

They spent the remainder of the night in silence together, watching the fire die down to embers together, each of them lost in their own heads. At some point, Yennefer drifted off without Geralt noticing. Something warm settled in his chest again at the softness in her face as she rested. She almost looked happy this way. He took the blanket that rested on the back of the loveseat and laid it over her before creeping away to his own bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time! It was going to be longer but this soft moment between Yen and Geralt really got away from me and I didn't want to take away from it by continuing on with the rest of my plans for the chapter, so I'm splitting it into two parts. As previously stated, chapters may be a little more than a couple weeks apart, but I'm still writing and working on this story! I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts  
> ~Dandelion


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